


Cold Turkey

by butyoumight



Series: Crossing Parallels [6]
Category: My Chemical Romance, The Beatles
Genre: AU, Crossing Parallels, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-10
Updated: 2007-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butyoumight/pseuds/butyoumight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>But a dream, nonetheless, because John Lennon was dead. John Lennon had been killed before Frank was even born. John Lennon had not fucked him screaming into a hotel mattress while Billie Joe watched and jerked off.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Turkey

**Author's Note:**

> Another MCR/Beatles insert into the _Crossing Parallels_ universe.

Sometimes, unexpected things, impossible things, happen. And sometimes, impossible things happen in such a rush that by the time they're over and done with and a little while in the past, you forget they ever really happened in the first place. You tell yourself that it was a dream, your imagination. It's easier to remember impossible things fondly as fake than to spend your life trying to recapture the unattainable.

That's what made Frank's current situation so incapacitating.

He had convinced himself that his imagination had been over-active after a night of mind-bending sex, that his encounter with John Lennon, as if, had merely been a dream.

A good dream, yeah, a fucking great dream. A dream come fucking true.

But a dream, nonetheless, because John Lennon was dead. John Lennon had been killed before Frank was even born. John Lennon had _not_ fucked him screaming into a hotel mattress while Billie Joe watched and jerked off.

 _A dream_ , Frank told himself, _a dream, a dream._

He continued to chant his settling mantra, _a dream, a dream, a dream_ , because it sure didn't seem like a dream right now, with John Lennon crouching down beside him, pushing round glasses up his nose and tilting his head curiously so that too-long hair tumbled over his shoulder.

They simply looked at each other before John made the first move, gathering a handful of Frank's also over-long hair and pushing it aside to get a good look at Frank's newer tattoo. A smile ghosted John's gaunt features, and Frank noticed how very thin this John Lennon was, as compared to the other one. He noticed how this John Lennon was pale, had a sheen across his forehead as if in a cold sweat, how this John Lennon's fingers were trembling.

 _As if there are two John Lennons_ , he berated himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. _One who fucked me and one who may, sure. Two of him._

Frank was the first to speak, though his voice was a mere shadow of it's usual self, as if afraid to shatter the quiet tension of the moment. He wasn't sure what he was afraid of: being discovered by someone else absconding in what was apparently the past, or being sent hurtling back to his own reality.

"John?"

John rocked back a bit, then rose to his feet, offering Frank a hand. Frank took the hand and squeezed slightly as he took the help standing. John's hand reminded him of Gerard's hand, narrow fingers. John had been an artist too, hadn't he? John's fingers were cold, though, almost lifeless. Gerard's hadn't felt like that in a long time.

"Yer hair's longer, and ye've got more of those tattoos." John brushed a knuckle over Frank's lower lip, frowning a bit. "That ring's gone."

"I had to take it out." Frank blushed and looked down; realizing suddenly that he was talking to John Lennon like they were friends. Casual. How could one be casual around John Lennon? Especially in knowing what had happened to him.

"That's too bad."

"Yeah."

"So, do ye know what yer doin' here?"

Frank chewed on the inside of his lip thoughtfully, looking at John.

"I don't know."

"Usually, this 'appens when one of us needs somethin'. Some help, some reassurance."

"One of us?"

John smiled. "You know. The boys. My boys. Billie's boys."

Frank blinked, he felt his knees go kind of weak. Billie Joe hadn't mentioned a thing the next day, nor for the rest of the tour, nor ever again since then. He couldn't quite believe the information John had just given him.

John touched his wrist gently and guided the smaller man to his couch, and they sat side by side now as they talked. John trembled a little bit less.

"You mean... Tré? And Mike?"

"Oh, yeah. And Jason."

"Wow."

John touched Frank's hair again. He seemed enamored by the texture, causing Frank's flush to darken slightly. He wracked his mind for Beatle history that he used to know like the back of his hand.

"What year is it?"

Frank was beginning to get the feel for this impossible situation. It was simple time travel.

Though time travel is never simple.

It was just easier for Frank to pretend that, yeah, time travel was too simple. He jumped backwards in time, just like John had jumped forwards in time and before long he'd go back to where he belonged and John would stay here.

Wherever, when ever here was.

"Sixty-nine."

Everything clicked. How thin John was. How easily enamoured. How soft his voice, the tiny tremble in his fingers.

Frank's heart ached a little as John again reminded him of Gerard. Though different, so different. Different, because Gerard wasn't like that anymore.

"Oh, John."

"What?"

"You... Did you ever think maybe _you_ needed _me_?"

"Me? Why?"

Frank threaded his fingers and stared pointedly at the ink, avoiding John's eyes. "John, are you, uh..." He cleared his throat. "How long has it been since you..."

John pursed his lips. "What I do or don't do is none of your business. I'm a grown man, I can do what I like."

"Maybe I'm supposed to help you."

"Help me with bloody well what, boy?"

Frank looked up. He reached out and carefully took John's glasses from his face, leaning in close so John could see into his eyes clearly. For a long while they just looked, then Frank spoke again. "Help you stop. For real. Not just for a day."

John's eyes narrowed.

"What gives you the right? What gives you the reason?"

Frank's voice fell. "I almost lost my best friend when he lost himself. I couldn't save him. He had to save himself."

"So what makes you think you can save me?"

Frank sat back. "I don't. But I can do for you what I didn't for him."

John stood up, snatching his glasses back and crossing the enclosed porch to look out over his back yard. He spoke quietly, though. "What is that?"

"Tell him that he needs to be saved. And that he can do it himself."

John spun around. "You're the one from the future, lad. Tell me. Can I? Do I?"

Frank stood up, crossed the porch to John, and pressed a nervous kiss against his lips. Then he spoke into his mouth. "Yes."


End file.
